Tallulah Bankhead

Upon researching a character I'm in the process of creating, I came across the actress Tallulah Bankhead. And now I love her.

"...I've had many momentary love affairs. A lot of these impromptu romances have been climaxed in a fashion not generally condoned. I go into them impulsively. I scorn any notion of their permanence. I forget the fever associated with them when a new interest presents itself."


Yes.

Sweetheart you're so pretty, but you always make decisions like an ugly girl.

I'm done. It was funny for awhile but seriously, I can't anymore. If there's a reason why all this has been happening, then what is it? For me to focus on my writing more? It's hard to do that when I have this itch that has become impossible to scratch. Unbelievable. As silly as it is to dwell on, and really it's quite an insignificant part of life, I'm going out of my mind! On top of the frustration, which is one thing, I also get to feel stupid for wasting ten hours of my day today. That's what makes it worse, that I end up looking foolish for even giving you a minute of my time, let alone the whole day. All I want, all I need is that physical act itself. Keep your feelings away, I don't care. Why is it so difficult to seperate the two? And why is something ALWAYS getting in my way. Why is there always someone else there that is more important than I am? What am I doing that's so wrong? I know exactly what I'm trying to get myself into, I know the outcome, I expect nothing more or less than what I will actually get. But nooooooo. Something so simple has become so absurd. Obviously whatever it is that I'm doing, or not doing isn't working. Merely existing doesn't seem to be working. And this can't be the universe's way of protecting me or having me make the smart choice, because way back when it certainly didn't pay any attention to the choices I was making. Psh. So why now? I can't seem to get what I want. Someone may then ask, "Well what is it that you want?" I know what I could go for immediately, that's for sure. In the grander scheme of things, maybe not so much. Or maybe it's just my subconscious that is confused.

Good f-ing grief.

Am I a Clown? Do I Amuse You?

What's going to happen next? I can't think of anything else at the moment that could possibly make the wound that is my life sting a little bit more. Thank goodness I have a sense of humor. Someone without a funny bone would probably turn to drugs or therapy (or both) to escape. All I want to know is what's next. Even last night, mid-crisis in the middle of a crosswalk, arms flailing I listed the only plausible (not really) events that should follow scene one and two. And without missing a beat, the universe gave me that. Sort of. I got an e-mail from someone I said I would get an e-mail from, timed perfectly. "Here we go!" I said to my roommate. I had excepted the e-mail to read, "Dana, I'm engaged. " or, "I'm dead," or something else dramatic. When it rains it pours. Luckily, it was a simple hello. Whew. All that build up for nothing. Thank goodness! I would have lost it. I wasn't even upset over what took place, but one thing after another, in a half hour span is kind of rough. I'm convinced the earthquake in Chile messed with the Earth's rotation and my life and presumably everyone else's. That's when this all started, that Saturday. My entire world was literally shaken up. Yes that sounds absurd, but everything was peachy keen before then. Now my days have turned into nothing but shoulder shrugs. I give up! I surrender to you universe! I can't even think about things anymore without them coming into being. But they're never good things. Oh no. Maybe this is all happening to become fodder for my writing. Which is great and all but come on, a person can only take so much. It's long passed the point of ridiculous. At least these stories have amused others, and myself. So what if the joke is perpetually on me? The only good to come out of this earthquake (Life quake, perhaps?) is that Mr. Big has decided to e-mail me everyday, even just to say Hi. It's been a week already, and he hasn't missed a day yet. Everyone I told this to responded with a groan and/or an eyeroll, and that's fine. Just like everything else I'm not taking it seriously, I'm not even going to spend time thinking about it (except while writing a blog about it). It makes me happy to know that he has to think about me everyday. Has and wants to do so. I guess the earthquake shook things in the right direction, at least regarding him. Everything else, like those buildings, have collapsed abruptly, and without warning. Too soon for earthquake metaphors? Nothing has actually been as dramatic as I made them seem, that was my Carrie moment, because I felt like that's something lame she'd write. I think the fact that I still manage to reference "Sex and the City" is worse than my metaphor. I should stop typing now. The name Mr. Big stays though!

The Ghost Who Comes and Goes

I shouldn't bother writing comedy anymore, because my life has become one ongoing sketch, never short on punchlines and one-liners. The universe never ceases to amaze me and make me laugh. Whenever I start feeling a little emo about one thing, something else comes along to take my mind of off it. I swear I think things and then they happen...but only things I don't want to have happen. Maybe it's a sixth sense, maybe people are predictable. While everything that happens to me ends up making a wonderful story later on, I'm still the one living through them. It's gone past the point of absurdity. Maybe the only people for me really are the mad ones.

I don't get it. At all. What do you want from me? Why do you even think about me?

My life story should be written into a movie, nay, a musical. Consisting solely of songs from 1960's girl groups. Excellent.

Jeff Buckley might need to be thrown in there too.